


Something Like Sacrilege

by hiza-chan (callunavulgari)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-26
Updated: 2012-04-26
Packaged: 2017-11-04 08:29:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 724
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/391826
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/callunavulgari/pseuds/hiza-chan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You are not my God.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Something Like Sacrilege

**Author's Note:**

> Written after the Jimmy episode.

When Dean meets Castiel’s host, all he can think of is that he likes the brooding, melancholy angel far more than he likes the weak-willed human. Jimmy is nothing like Castiel. He talks too much, and the tone in his voice is so alive with emotion that Dean feels a little sick. He thinks of dark eyes and words hushed against his skin, the feel of warm skin against his, and looks away from Castiel’s host.  
  
He can’t entirely meet the man’s eyes, and half the time he leaves the interrogations to Sam. Just looking at those blue eyes bright with emotion makes him miss the angel. The entire time Jimmy is with him, Dean stares at him. Just out of the corner of his eye, never enough for the other man to notice. He watches him, and he looks for any sign of the angel that he’d come to know.  
  
When Castiel finally does show his face, he is in the form of a little girl. Jimmy’s little girl, to be more precise. Dean looks at that tiny body, with it’s blonde hair and pale skin and hopes against hope that Castiel doesn’t choose that body. He doesn’t see the little girl much while Castiel is haunting her, just catches glimpses of white flashes of light and pale eyes devoid of any emotion whatsoever.  
  
Time speeds up. He catches pale glimpses of reality, the blood smeared against Sam’s lips, Castiel looking up at him from little girl eyes, and Jimmy’s blood running slick across the floor. He is aware of Jimmy pleading, but only in the very back of his mind. There is only Castiel’s voice in his head, Castiel’s voice coming from those young lips.  
  
And then time stops.  
  
Sam’s lips close around some demon’s throat, and he thinks that somewhere in his mind, he wants to put a bullet between Sammy’s very brown, very human eyes. The air goes white, and Castiel is before him once more. Those cold blue eyes have never been so comforting. He feels like wrapping his arms around the man, kissing that almost too cold look away. The thought is fleeting, however strong. The gesture would be ignorant, stupid, and unappreciated. He wonders if Castiel would even respond to the kiss, if Jimmy is so close to the surface that he’d really care whether or not he should be kissing Dean in front of his host’s wife and child.  
  
All thoughts of kisses vanish when Castiel’s eyes focus on his. They are dead, dead blue eyes staring out at him from a familiar face. He is frowning.  
  
_“You are not my God.”_  
  
The unspoken words echo inside of his head, and he feels as if he is going crazy. Castiel walks away from him, away from a crying woman who’d been widowed far too early, and the sobbing ball of child that used to be his daughter.  
  
He stares after the man, confused and with something painful and clenching beneath his ribcage. He looks at his brother, his sweet little brother with his mouth smeared with demon blood, and feels as if his world is falling apart. He wishes he’d stayed in Hell.  
  
_I do not Serve you._  
  
And yet, days later, against all odds he is looking at Castiel’s blood against white walls, and it is Castiel gripping his arm too tight. Castiel helps him, casting out one of his own in the process. He looks into desperate blue eyes and wonders if this is what it looks like when an angel falls.  
  
-  
  
_Castiel is warm against his side, pressing too sweet kisses to his temple. One brown hand trails along the line of his hip, the other sliding teasingly into his hair. Blue eyes look up at him, glittering with some unspoken emotion, some blind devotion that Dean doesn’t entirely trust._  
  
Castiel looks up at him as if he is the only thing that matters in the world. He trails a hand along Castiel’s brow and wonders just how sacrilegious it is to have an angel choose you over his God. The angel’s very lips worship him, his hands, his tongue, even the base of his spine.  
  
Castiel is murmuring something against his skin, too quietly for him to hear. He feels the words against him, and they chill him to the very core.


End file.
